


Are We Still Friends?

by tadpole_san



Category: DCU (Comics), Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Break, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Slight Canon Divergence, Spoilers for Titans s1e6, There's so many?????, Why are there so many tags about dick grayson having some sort of issue, is he okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29611593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadpole_san/pseuds/tadpole_san
Summary: Its been a year since you've seen Dick - a year since the two of you severed  ties with a relationship that wouldn't stand the distance of leaving the vigilante life behind. But when he finds his place back in the life you've made without him, can you really find it in yourself to deny it to him?Some things remain unsaid, and other things can't be spoken between the two of you . Maybe it's time to for the two of you to define what you still mean to one another.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Are We Still Friends?

The last time you had seen Dick Grayson, he’d outfitted himself with packed belongings and a one-way ticket to Detroit, MIchigan. Seeing him off at the airport would turn out to be the last time you saw him for a year - a fact you hadn’t picked up on at the time, but did, in fact, predict. To a degree. 

“You could come visit,” he’d offered, just steps away from his gate. “You - well, you said you had plans to go to Chicago, right? The drive’s not too bad.” It was hard to say no. 

Because this was Dick Grayson, and he had to be so  _ earnest  _ about everything he did. Even when it was asking you to come see him as he was moving hundreds of miles away from Gotham (hundreds of miles away from  _ you _ , a part of your mind whispered, even as you reminded yourself that this didn’t have anything to do with you so much as it had to do with his fractured relationship with Bruce). Because he was trying to make things work. 

“How  _ are  _ you able to be friends with your exes?” you’d asked, bemused and flabbergasted all at once. It wasn’t the first time. “I really try to hate you, you know.” That got him to laugh - which was nice. You felt as though you hadn’t really smiled in a long time. 

“Maybe that’s my superpower.” 

“Your superpower is super annoying,” you’d deadpanned, before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Grayson.” 

An empty promise neither of you acknowledged. 

  
  


After that, it was all too easy to fall out of touch with Dick - one too many missed calls, excuses of taking more shifts at his police station when you were more than capable of keeping up with the news that spoke of a vigilant Robin without its bat, until eventually, total radio silence. And you were happy to leave it at that, knowing that whatever Dick was working through, he’d clearly rather do it on his own. 

So when even the Robin sightings in Detroit stopped entirely, you didn’t push things. Maybe he’d finally done it: give up the costume for good, leave the life behind like he  _ said  _ he would do, but never actually committed to. 

This was probably a sign. That you need to go see him, like  _ you  _ said you would do, but never committed to. 

Which means that the last thing you expect, on your morning coffee run in  _ Chicago _ , was to quite literally run into the man of the hour himself. 

“ _ Dick _ ?” The word comes in a way that is akin to a strangled duck squawking. You wonder if the man before you is real - if you’re not just imagining the figure that stands before you, cuts and bruises littering his face. As if he’s been in a fight. 

With his track record, there probably was a fight. With him, there’s always  _ the  _ fight. 

“Sup?” Dick’s not the one who answers you first. It’s the kid standing at his side, walking with a swagger that speaks volumes to the confidence of a kid who’s filling out the big boy shoes with his own ego. You try not to judge too much - there’s always a story behind a stance like his. “Jason Todd, at your service.” 

A train passes on the overhead, the sound drawing you out of your thoughts. You realize his hand is still offered to you, and you shake it, still staring at Dick. He’s tense, shoulders drawn, hunched in on himself and bracing for a fight. 

Something’s up. And with the Boy Wonder, it’s always something big, and possibly earth-shattering. Inwardly, you sigh. On the outside, you smile wryly and introduce yourself to Jason. 

“You probably know who I am,” you say, letting go of Jason’s hand and stepping back. Your grip on your bag tightens. “Dick’s a big storyteller, once you get him going.” Dick verbally steps in before Jason can say anything to either confirm or deny your words. 

“I could use your help.” 

He doesn’t say  _ we _ . 

“I can see that,” you deadpan, motioning to his face. Your hand stops shy of actually touching the bruise blossoming against tanned skin. “A personal favor, then?” He turns his head away from you, and you spot the (quite frankly) atrocious brown car parked on the curb. 

“That’s my ride.” He’s defensive, and you get the feeling that it isn’t about the car. You raise your hand in surrender, but he doesn’t relax - in a way, it’s nice to know that you’re probably not the reason he looks ready to pull a Flash and run as soon as the chance to do so opened up for him. 

“You’re parked in front of  _ my  _ ride,” you reply, reaching into your bag and pulling the keys out. You let them twirl around your finger as you turn and walk towards your car, looking over your shoulder at him. “Am I going to need to make a stop at home to get the old suit out?” Somehow, that actually brings a smile to Dick’s face, and he ducks his head slightly as he chuckles. 

“I just need you,” he calls out, finally pulling a hand out of his pockets and raising it in your direction to let you see the phone in his palm that’s open to your texts with him. There’s a new one that is likely the address of whatever safehouse he was holed up in. 

You try not to linger on his words for too long. 

“They’re hot,” you hear Jason say. It’s followed immediately by a yelp - presumably from Dick either elbowing him or punching his arm - and a “ _ you’re way too young for that _ .” Despite yourself, you grin. 

You’d missed him. Even if you weren’t going to admit it to his face. 

  
  


When you finally make it to the address Dick sends you, he’s not even the one who lets you pass Bruce’s more-than-extensive security system. It’s Jason who does that. 

Instead, you find Dick bent over the bathroom sink, the blade of a scalpel pressed to the skin of his arm. There’s also an unconscious body cuffed to the shower behind him, but you compartmentalize that for later. 

“Are you okay?” At the sound of your voice, DIck freezes - like a deer caught in headlights - and looks up at you. You can see him visibly relax as he lets out a sigh that works to relieve some of the tension wound up in his body. You raise an eyebrow, and walk over to him. 

“It’s not what you think,” he tells you, then uses the scalpel to motion towards the device discarded on the white porcelain. You pick it up, turning it over in your hands. “Bruce planted a tracker, in me, and I’m trying to-” 

“Cut him out?” you finish, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Cut  _ it  _ out,” he corrects. 

“I know what I said.” You watch through the mirror’s reflection as he finally makes the incision, thick red blood pouring down his arm and dripping into the sink. You’re already opening the cabinet to find gauze to wrap his arm with. “Let me see that-” The ringtone coming from the phone between you two cuts you off. You look at him. And then you look down at the screen. The name  _ Kori  _ flashes across it. 

“New girlfriend?” you dare to ask, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Dick purses his lips, swiping a bloody thumb over the screen to deny the call before he’s reaching for the tweezers. 

“No,” He grits his teeth, maneuvering the metal tweezers in the wound he made. “We just met,” Dick adds, meeting your eyes again. For his sake, you offer a tentative smile. He sighs, and finally retracts a tracker that resembles a battery watch. It falls into your open hand. You’re glad for the distraction, because -  _ shit _ . 

Those eyes. 

Dick possesses what you swear is the most beautiful shade of eyes you’ve ever seen, and he models them beautifully. Those baby blues were always going to be your downfall, and seeing them had been enough for you to call in a precious sick day at work so you could help him out on whatever case brings him to Chicago. They’re the reason you have a case in your car trunk containing a suit you swore to leave in the closet. 

They make you realize you can be so  _ weak _ . 

“I’m not dating right now,” Dick continues, filling in the space of your prolonged silence. He doesn’t take the gauze from your hand - even though he could - and instead, holds his arm out towards you so you can wrap it yourself. “Actually, I haven’t really seen anyone since I was with you.” 

“I think that says less about what our relationship was, and more about you going full lone-wolf.” You hesitate to finish, and you keep a loose grip on his arm. His skin is warm. “The more you try to be the anti-Bruce, the more you’re becoming like him. You know that, right?” He’s not looking you in the eye anymore. Anger isn’t what drives him to do that, you think - it’s more like a combination of guilt, of the expression of a kid who thinks he’s a disappointment to the people leaning on him. People shouldn’t lean on a kid. 

“I’m working on it.” 

“I know.” Finally, you set the roll of gauze aside and release his arm. It allows you to take the chance to reach for him and make him look at you again. “And thank you,” you add. “For coming to see me.” He manages another smile, reaching up to cover your hand in his. You know what he would do if you were still dating. He would’ve pressed a kiss to your hand, and he would laugh it off, probably with some sort of cheeky quip. A  _ I knew you missed me too much  _ or  _ I’d come by to see you any day.  _

You’re not dating anymore. And it’s confusing as  _ hell _ , because sometimes it feels like you still are. On the rare days that he still calls you for no reason to tell you about a case from work he’s stuck on, or to remind you that you made a promise to see him, pairing it with a good tease about how seeing him in the new uniform would probably be  _ too much _ for you. On those nights, Robin isn’t flying solo on the streets of Detroit. 

“The lead brought me to Chicago,” he explains, tilting his head in the direction of the man lying in the shower. 

“Is it a work case?” 

“Not exactly. It’s-” you anticipate the familiar  _ complicated _ . The word doesn’t come. “There’s a lot I need to update you on,” he settles on saying instead, running stained hands under the sink. “And if it’s Chicago, you’re going to be my number one. Right?” 

“Right,” you agree, traces of amusement seeping into your tone as you cross your arms. “I called in sick at work,” you add. “Am I going to need to make up an excuse for the rest of the week?” The question, lighthearted as it’s supposed to be, holds weight to it that neither of you acknowledge. 

“I’m probably going to be out of the state in a couple of days,” Dick says instead of answering, drying his hands off with a towel. He lets it drop in the sink, walking back out in the hallway with you. “You don’t need to - it’s a lot. And there’s these guys I’m kind of traveling with-” 

“Dick.” 

When he faces you, it’s your turn to shove hands in your pockets to avoid wringing them out in front of him. You take a deep breath, leaning back on your heels to look at him. “You didn’t need to find me,” you tell him. “That Jason kid? He wouldn’t be sticking around if he couldn’t be decent backup for this.” 

“Are you detective-ing me out right now?” Dick’s actually trying not to laugh. You’re not sure if you should hit him or not. 

“That’s not a  _ word _ !” 

“You know what I  _ mean _ ! And yes! I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with you!” By now, he’s actually laughing - and even if a part of you is annoyed, sure, there’s more of you that just feels  _ relief _ . Because you can’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that, either, and it gives you a bit of hope. 

Hope that the parts of him you fell in love with aren’t as lost as you thought. 

“There’s a lot,” he admits, shifting his weight and trying to step back so he isn’t crowding you in the hall. “I know - the Bruce thing, you’re sick of that bullshit. I got a lot going on.” His phone starts up again, and this time, he pulls it out. The fluorescent light washes out his skin, but you can see his expression sober up. “I need to take this.” The traces of laughter in his voice are gone, and it feels like he’s slipping away  _ again _ . There’s frustration that must show on your face, because he reaches out to you and moves a stray lock of hair out of your eyes in a silent apology. 

“Go.” You manage not to sound as bitter as you feel - and with him, it’s not a bitterness that’s always there, but it inevitably creeps up on you. The same way the shadow of a bat hangs over him. Dick nods, and you start to walk away when he grabs your wrist again. 

“You aren’t my  _ backup for this _ ,” he says firmly, and you know you’re fucked. Because he’s looking at you with those eyes, and it’s like you’re in that airport with him all over again, with nothing but empty promises and a broken relationship the two of you are hanging onto by a thread. “You’re-” he falters. He hesitates, and you’re ready to watch Dick Grayson walk away from you again. 

“You’re everything.” 


End file.
